


Life and Death

by Gazyrlezon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gazyrlezon/pseuds/Gazyrlezon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a year since Jon Snow’s death, and Arya had never found peace again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been playing around with CSS recently, and thought I’d try to write a skin to make it look more book-like.  
> Tell me what you think of it, and whether or not I should keep it for other stories.
> 
> Also, does anyone know an alternative for _text-align: justify_ , since it doesn’t seem to be allowed in a skin?

Gendry crossed Winterfell’s frozen courtyard and made his way down the narrow stairs that led to the Stark’s ancient crypt. Ever since he had first come down here, he found the place made him uncomfortable, and he always feared his feet may slip on the steep steps that laid down to this old stony tunnel. 

Yet he gladly went down there, for he knew Arya would be there. He had searched for her for almost half a day without success, and half the castle had begun to fear what might have happened if no one found her again. Ever since Winterfell had been restored halfway through that terrible night that had fallen upon the north and ended for almost a year, she had become the Stark in Winterfell, and should she be gone, the night would come again. Or so some said. 

_There must always be a Stark in Winterfell_ , they said, and Arya _was_ the only Stark left to them. 

While he descended, he felt the warmth embrace him. Outside it was still winter, albeit a much softer form than it had been before, but the ground on which the great castle was built was always warm. And now Gendry was _in_ that ground. 

Deep inside the innards of the earth, the stone tunnel opened, with long-dead kings on either side. In the light of Gendry’s torch, their eyes seemed to glow. _They_ _see me._

He slowly made his way to the far end, where the kings had not been dead so long and were not yet forgotten. Soon they had swords over their laps were the older ones had only rust. Gendry had spent hours here, once, and looked at every sword to see how they were made. He thought they might all be the same, yet he had found them all to be very different from each other, as different as the men that held them. In the end, he had taken ideas from every sword he’d seen and made a new one with all of them combined, and made a gift of it for Arya, who had then just retaken Winterfell from Ramsay Snow. 

And at the very end, were the statues were no older than a year, stood Arya with a candle in her hand and tears on her cheeks. 

He had known he would find her there. It had only been a year since the raven with that dreadful message had arrived, that Jon Snow had been lost beyond the Wall, after he had taken his dragon to fly to the Lands were Winter never ended. Her brother had saved them all, but for Arya, all there had been were tears. 

_Why did the gods, old or new, decide to hate her so? Why does she have to see_ _joyous crowds every time she hears of a family member’s death?_

She stood in front of the newest statue, were they had placed a stony likeness of Jon Snow, beside King Robb, whom many now called the King who had stood up again, after Torrhen had knelt three hundred years before. 

Many had tried to dissuade her from burying him here, even though he had technically been a Stark for many years without knowing, yet all she said was _If my father could_ _have Lyanna buried here, then why shouldn’t Jon rest here, too? There’s no Lord_ _who’s ever done more for the North than him._

But there was no body, and the tomb was empty beneath the valyrian sword placed on his lap, and Arya’s mind had never found rest. 

“Arya?”, he asked, and found his voice sounded as old and deep as the crypts around him. 

She turned her head to look at him, and again he could see the tears on her cheeks dropping on her clothes, glimmering in both the light of her own candle and his torch. For a long moment there was silence, while her low sobs ebbed. 

“There’s no one left but me”, she whispered, yet the echo in the darkness made it almost seem like shouting, “They’re all gone, Gendry. _Gone_. Father’s dead, and Mother and Robb were killed by Freys. Bran and Rickon are long gone, too, and no one but me still believes them to live. Ramsay _butchered_ Sansa when she marched on Winterfell. And now Jon’s dead, too, already for a year. I’m the only one left. I neither have a mother, nor a father. My sister was killed and my brothers are all gone. I have no one left.” 

“You have me”, he told her, and knew it would not really serve to comfort her, but he could not think of anything else to say. 

“I have you, yes”, she agreed, “But you’re not my brother.” She turned away, and Gendry could see she bit her lip. 

“No, that’s right”, he said, more sharply than he had intended, but that old anger burned in him still. “I’m to bloody lowborn to ever be your brother, right?” He knew he should not say these words. It was not _Arya_ who looked down on him. Still, he could not help it. 

“Just shut up, stupid”, she almost screamed at him, and for a moment he feared he had screwed it all up, “You’re not my brother.” She turned towards him again and made a step in his direction. 

Then she reached out her hand, touched his stomach, but quickly moved down and before he knew it, she had her hand wrapped around his cock. He heard himself taking a sharp breath. 

“You’re so much more than that.” 

Gendry could not even begin to imagine why she was doing this _now_ , when the tears were still on her face, and he had even less idea on why he is not surprised, why he felt as if he had almost expected it. And yet, the feeling of her small hand gripping him so hard was even more wonderful than he had ever imagined, when he had lied awake for whole nights and could only think of _her_. Still, he had always known it could not be, and he knew it could not be now. 

“Arya - ”, he started, and then wondered what he should say to her. One look at her face, were the tears had started to dry out, with that _hunger_ now coming forth from beneath them, and he could not say what he had to. 

“What?”, she snapped, in a voice that tried to imitate her usual one but was incredibly full of nervousness and even, partly _fear_. “You don’t want me? Because I want you, and I think you want me, too.” 

_She wants me_ , the thought made its way through his mind. In a way, he supposed, he should not be too surprised. 

_When she wants something, she grabs it with both her hands and will never let go_ _until it is truly hers._

“Yes”, he told her before he could stop himself. It was true, he _did_ want her, but he also knew there was no way for them. He tried to get his mind thinking straight again, before he’d find himself doing something unwise, while her hand was still inside his breeches and he craved _more_. 

“But Arya - ”, he started again, yet again, she cut him off. 

“What?” She glared at him, while her hand started to _move_ and made his mind almost give in. 

“It can’t be. I’m a bastard, I’m not worthy - ” 

“ _Not worthy?_ ” Her eyes glared in disbelief, and even _hurt_ , and Gendry started to hate himself for bringing that expression on her face. 

“Then tell me, Gendry, who’s more _worthy_ than the man who found me in pieces and build me back together? Who stood by my side ever since them, no matter how dangerous a task that was? Who saved me more than once, even when it could have meant his own death?” 

Hearing all that from her made it all even worse, somehow. She had never admitted that she had _relied_ on his help. Sometimes he had feared that maybe she had never noticed how he’d always stay close to her in battles, how he’d deflect the few blows she had not noticed and crush whoever had tried to hurt her with his hammer. Yet she _had_ noticed, and hearing that _now_ , while had to refuse her something he himself wanted almost broke his will. 

“Could you explain me why some snobby green boy who just happened to be born in a large pile of stone’s more _worthy_ than that other man?” 

He found no better reason than “That’s just the way it is.” 

But of course, Arya would not take that reply. Instead, she started to move her hand faster, and while Gendry’s head was clouded with pleasure, she wrapped her other arm around his shoulders, and pulled herself up at him until their faces were at equal hight and only inches apart. 

“That’s _stupid_ ” 

And while he was still trying not to give in to her hand on his cock, to her face in front of his, to _himself_ , she crushed down on his mouth, and felt himself kissing her back before he thought better of it. Somewhere deep in his mind some voice screamed to stop, but he only wondered why he had ever done what that voice said. 

He didn’t resist when she pulled his breeches down, or when she did the same with her own. The only thing he shortly felt was a terrible sense of _lost_ while her hand was gone. 

Yet that lost did not last long, and Arya’s hand soon guided his cock to her entrance. Then she lowered herself, and Gendry was overwhelmed by a feeling he had craved for so long, even though he had never been able to begin to imagine how it might feel. 

It was tight, incredibly tight, and he could see Arya almost crying out at the pain, but it also felt so unbelievably good, and _right_ , and he knew Arya felt the same way about it, for she did never even slow down her movements. Then she drew herself up again, then loosened her grip a bit to come down, and again up, until Gendry felt her arm trembling where she held herself up, while he feared he would soon fall over because he would be unable to stand upright for much longer, not while she clung to him and moved like _that_. 

_This shouldn’t be_ , that treacherous voice called out again, but he could not hear what it said, did no longer _want_ to hear what it said. 

Soon he had his own arms behind her back to hold her even closer, if that was even possible, and together they fastened their pace. 

_This shouldn’t be_ , insisted that terrible voice in his head and brutaly pressed its way back into his mind. Gendry almost screamed for it to go away, between his own moans and Arya’s much sharper shrieks of pleasure. All the while, he could feel his climax coming. That voice screamed in his head. 

He would not be able to hold for much longer, he knew. Not while he was inside her, not while she clung to him and he to her. His face became distorted by pain, and it felt like the hardest thing he had ever done when he lifted her up again, higher than before, so that he slipped out of her again. 

Only moments later he could feel himself releasing all that tension, and his seed sprawled all over her belly and thigh. 

He thought he ought to feel relieve that he had drawn away in time. Instead, he found himself angry at that world where he had to stop here. 

_Still, I have done the right thing._

Then a slap broke the silence between them, and Gendry almost fell over. Arya’s face was as terrible to behold as it had been when she had faced Bolton’s bastard, a seething mask of an anger burning even deeper than his own. 

“Take your hand”, she told him, sounding more dangerous than he had ever heard her, “Take your hand, and stuff that thing back inside me, and do that again _inside me_ , or I’ll take Jon’s sword here and _cut it off!_ ” 

And to Gendry’s terror, she had already clutched a hand around the sword’s pommel where it lay on that great statue’s lap, ready to draw it and carry out her threat. 

_She’s willing to break his peace for that_ , he realized. Then he looked at the statue, whose eyes still seemed to glow. He remembered her brother well, he had always approved of their friendship. 

Gendry thought that probably he had never been so quick to obey an order, and he also felt he was way too happy to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> So, well, my first attempt at writing smut … I hope it turned out well.


End file.
